


lay down your weary head

by Zykaben



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Featuring a very sleep deprived Jon, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22706545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zykaben/pseuds/Zykaben
Summary: Jon has been running himself ragged, searching for every scrap of information he can possibly find about the Unknowing. He's exhausted and sleep-deprived but he can't bring himself to take a break, not now.Luckily, Tim and Martin are there to make sure that their boyfriend gets the care and rest he needs.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 53
Kudos: 743





	lay down your weary head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dinosaurrainbowstarfish (Charlie572)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie572/gifts).



> Happy birthday to Charlie! Enjoy your gift of JonMarTim where Martin and Tim look after Jon.
> 
> To everyone else: happy valentine's day! Have some soft shit!
> 
> And, once again, thank you to [smallhorizons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallhorizons/) for betaing this fic! They're fantastic and give the best feedback.
> 
> Happy reading!

Jon had been in the archives since six in the bloody morning, and it had been a long and exhausting day. Not that Jon had expected anything less, but that certainly didn’t mean he enjoyed the reality of it. He hadn’t even gotten around to recording a statement today, having spent his time gathering as many accounts about the Circus or relating to the Stranger as he could find. The only time he’d stopped had been to scarf down the lunch Martin had brought him. Or had Tim been the one to leave at his desk? Jon couldn’t really remember, if he was being perfectly honest with himself. It certainly hadn’t been Melanie, and Basira had been out for the day, so one or both of Jon’s boyfriends had to be the culprit. Jon was almost completely sure that he’d have known if it had been Elias.

The point was that Jon had been working for a long while and it was taking just a bit of a toll on him. It was fine, though. Jon was fine. Maybe his vision was somewhat hazy and maybe there was a dull throb pounding in his skull, but it was nothing that Jon hadn’t dealt with before. The whole thing was only _slightly_ inconvenient and a little painful and, really, pain was practically a given for Jon at this point so it wasn’t any reason to stop. Jon could get through it. He just had to get through the next three boxes of statements, and then there was still the matter of recording the ones that proved useful, and he really should do that as soon as possible and if he was diligent enough he might be able to finish a statement up before he went home and—

Jon nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard someone knock twice against his office door. Some hysterical part of his consciousness had him glancing quickly around the room to check for something, _anything_ that wasn't supposed to be there. He was the only one in the room, no Nikola or Not-Sasha or anything else. Just him.

Jon took in a deep breath. _It’s fine. It’s not—there’s nothing here. Someone wants to ask you a question or share something they’ve learned. That’s it. It’s_ fine.

“Jon? Are you in there?”

“Of course he’s in there. You think that he’d do something as sensible as taking a break?”

Jon breathed out a sharp sigh of relief. Those were Martin’s and Tim’s voices, albeit muffled by the door. It was fine. Everything was _fine._

“Come in,” Jon said, clearing his throat when his voice came out raspy and dry and soft. He tried again, much clearer this time, “Come in.”

The door to his office creaked open. Martin stepped in with a shy and sunny smile playing on his face, Tim following close behind with a familiar expression that Jon always had trouble discerning. Jon decided that he liked it, though he would have to ask Tim what it meant at some point. Probably not _now,_ but soon. Once he’d finished his work.

“Hello.” Martin was still smiling. Jon liked it. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. Going through these.” Jon gestured haphazardly at the three boxes of statements that were on the floor next to his desk. “I should be able to finish them before the end of the day, probably with enough time leftover so that I can record one of them. Then maybe—”

“Christ, Jon,” Tim interrupted. “What time do you think it is?”

Martin’s smile had dimmed and Tim’s expression had flattened to something more similar to disbelief than anything else.

Jon was _pretty_ sure that it was only two in the afternoon, but he was suddenly doubting that. “Oh, ah, around four?”

Martin laughed nervously while Tim sighed out, “Jon, it’s past seven.”

Oh. That would certainly explain why Jon felt so exhausted. He did some quick maths—eleven hours? Wait, no, thirteen. Thirteen hours of working.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Tim said. “That’s almost ten hours, isn’t it?”

“Thirteen,” Jon corrected automatically. Then he paused. “Six to seven is—yes, it’s thirteen.”

Martin’s smile was gone now. “You said that you got into work today at nine.”

Oh. Right. Jon had… lied about that. It wasn’t even much of a lie, really. He just hadn’t wanted to worry Martin and Tim, was all.

“I, um, never said that,” Jon tried.

Martin’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly. “When I came in this morning I asked you if you’d been there for long. You told me that you’d only been in for a short while.”

Tim laughed, more dry than amused. “And you believed him? About something concerning his own self-care?”

Jon felt himself bristle, ready to snap out something harsh and biting at Tim. He stopped when he noticed the teasing curve of Tim’s mouth, something shaped very much like a smile. Jon took in a quick breath and fixed Tim with a frown. “I don’t have a habit of lying.”

“Right, you just stretch the truth whenever it concerns taking care of yourself,” Tim said. His tone was slightly mocking but something about his expression took the edge off of it.

Jon opened his mouth to respond and then promptly realized that he had no idea what to say. Tim’s smile widened and Jon quickly dropped his gaze to study the statement in his hands. He stared intently at one of the words, not really reading it so much as taking in the curves and angles that made up the letters. Very interesting things, letters. Absolutely arbitrary symbols that had been assigned sound and significance. They were meaningless outside of the meaning that people had decided to give them. And then those same people took those symbols and sounds and strung them together into words that were just as arbitrary and just as meaningless. Truly, language was fascinating.

Jon gave a violent jolt when he felt something touch his shoulder. His eyes snapped up to see Martin, who was pulling back quickly at Jon’s flinch, his hand hovering a few centimeters above Jon’s shoulder now. Jon was sure that if he were to look into Martin’s eyes he’d see worry and affection swimming in them.

“Is this—would it be okay to touch you?” Martin asked, speaking as if he thought his own voice would startle Jon.

Jon couldn’t help but smile at that, his chest aching with something hot and tender. Martin was always so sweet and careful. “Yes. It’s okay. Please.”

Martin made a small, strangled sound that Jon was vaguely worried about but the thought was quickly dismissed when Martin’s hand rested on Jon’s shoulder again. Jon sighed and closed his eyes, tension easing out of him as he leaned into Martin’s touch.

Tim was chuckling. The sound was closer than before. “You must _really_ be out of it if you’re saying ‘please’ to PDA at work.”

“Not in public,” Jon mumbled. Now that his eyes had closed, Jon didn’t think that there was any way that he could possibly get them open. 

Martin’s hand pulled away from his shoulder. Jon let out a small, involuntary whine at the loss of contact. Before he could even begin to feel embarrassed by the action, Jon felt Martin’s fingers card through his hair, his hand large and warm on Jon’s scalp. Jon leaned into the touch with a soft hum, melting a bit when Martin started to move his hand in short, slow circular motions. Jon hazily wondered if this was what a cat felt like when it was being petted.

Jon could hear something—some _one_ talking, but couldn’t make out the words. That didn’t really matter, though; the voice sounded bright and sweet and it made Jon feel safe so he didn’t worry too much. There was another sound, another voice, this one not quite as bright but strong and measured and warm. Jon wished that he could make blankets out of the both of them; he wanted to wrap himself up in those sounds and tones until they surrounded him and blocked out everything else.

Another hand landed on his shoulder, this one not as broad but still as lovely as the other. It was motionless for a few moments before it began rubbing comfortingly back and forth over the slope of Jon’s shoulder. It was… nice. Lovely. Warm. More words that weren’t coming to Jon at the moment. Just… good. Very good.

The hand on his head began to move away, Jon’s hair spilling from in between its fingers. Jon liked the feeling of it but soon began to miss its presence. The hand on his shoulder also stopped moving, causing Jon to let out a short, discontented hum. He could hear the voices laughing, one closer to a bubbly giggle and the other a hearty chuckle. The hand gave a gentle squeeze before it, too, pulled back.

Jon forced his eyes to blink open with a gargantuan amount of effort and tried to take in his surroundings. He was still sitting at his desk in his office, but he had slumped forward and was pillowing his head on his arms. He blinked the fuzziness out of his vision and raised his head. Martin was standing where he had been before and Tim was standing slightly behind Jon on his opposite side. Both of them were smiling.

“What?” Jon croaked out, wincing at how rough his voice sounded.

Tim just shook his head. “You _are_ completely out of it. When was the last time you slept? As in, _really_ slept.”

“Um,” Jon said intelligently.

“Right then,” Tim nodded. He turned to look at Martin. “Looks like we’ve been forced to take matters into our own hands.”

Martin was grinning now. “I think you’re right. I mean, we don’t really have much of a choice at this point.”

“What matters?” Jon asked, blinking owlishly between their cheerful faces. “What are you talking about?”

“Matters of the utmost importance,” Tim said, jutting his chin out with a sharp, exaggerated motion as he spoke. The imperious look on Tim’s face was so out of place that Jon couldn’t help but find the absurdity of it mildly humorous.

“Really now?” Jon asked. He’d meant for the question to come out flat and disinterested, but instead it sounded curious and almost warm, even to his own ears. Jon cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Would either of you care to enlighten me?” There, that had sounded level and steady. Mostly.

Martin held out a hand towards Jon, his palm facing upwards. “We’re going to take you home and take care of you.”

“Maybe even get you to _sleep_ for once,” Tim added.

“I-I sleep,” Jon said, pointedly ignoring Martin’s outstretched hand, “and I just—I appreciate the thought, both of you, but I need to keep _working_ on these statements. The Unknowing—”

“Jon.”

Jon’s mouth clicked shut at Tim’s voice.

“Look,” Tim sighed, “I… I get it. I want to find and kill these—these _monsters_ just as bad as anyone else here, okay? It’s fucking _fantastic_ to know that I’m not alone in wanting to destroy them and that everyone here is working towards that. But you can’t—you’re not going to be helpful to _anyone_ if you’re about to collapse at any second.”

“I know my limits,” Jon snapped. “I’ll be as _useful_ as I need to be to get this done. If you would just _let_ me—”

Tim’s brow was furrowed now, his eyes growing darker. “That’s not—”

“What Tim means to say,” Martin cut in quickly, “is that we both really appreciate how hard you’re working and that we know why you’re doing it. The end of the world is—well, it’s a pretty big deal.”

Tim snorted at that and Jon felt begrudgingly amused. Leave it to Martin to talk about the end of life as everyone knew it in such plain and obvious terms. 

Martin’s face reddened a bit, but he still continued, “We’re all worried about all of it, of course we are. It’s just—we’re worried about _you,_ too. We… want you to be okay and to take care of yourself. And you’re, uh—”

“You’re not doing that last bit too well,” Tim finished. He paused for a moment and then let out a sigh, the tension in him dissipating along with the sound. He continued, softer and less biting, “We’d like it— _I’d_ like it—if you would just take a break for a night and let us take care of you. All of this”—Tim gestured with a sweeping, haphazard gesture at Jon’s desk—“will still be here tomorrow. A few hours of sleep-deprived scrambling isn’t going to be the thing that saves the world.”

“It could be,” Jon countered, but his response came out too much like a petulant grumble for it to have any impact.

“But it won’t,” Tim said easily. “You’ll work _and_ feel better after a break.”

“We’d really like it if you’d let us look after you,” Martin added, his lips curving upwards into a hesitant smile. “Can we do that for you tonight? Please?”

Jon looked back down at his desk and fidgeted in his seat. He _could_ keep working. Yes, his body would really appreciate some sleep, but Jon had been awake for longer stretches of time doing even more demanding work than this. But… 

He made the mistake of looking back up, first at Martin’s bashful yet hopeful expression and then at Tim’s look of exasperated, resigned fondness. Jon did not have the willpower to deny them anything when they looked like that.

“A-alright,” Jon breathed out. “Just for tonight.”

Martin’s lips thinned a bit as he pressed them together and Tim let out a short huff that was almost a laugh. “Better than nothing, I suppose.”

“We’ll work on it,” Martin said quickly. “For now, whose should we go to? Jon? Any preference?”

He only had to give it a few moments worth of thought. “Either of yours is fine.”

“Mine then?” Tim asked. “I know my collection of tea isn’t nearly as extensive as Martin’s, but my flat is closer and there’ll be less stairs to climb up. Besides, I have the blanket.”

That got a smile from Martin, even though Jon didn’t quite understand the bit about a blanket. Martin turned to look at Jon. “Does that sound good to you?”

Jon stared at Martin and Tim for a few seconds before the question finally sunk into his brain. “Y-yes. It does. When are we going?”

Tim and Martin shared a quick look that Jon couldn’t quite read before they turned their attention back to him.

“We’re heading out now,” Tim said. “Come on, get up.”

“But I have to—”

Tim just scoffed. “No, you don’t. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.”

“I can’t just leave everything laying out on my desk like this,” Jon insisted.

“Then we’ll clean it up for you,” Martin said. “You can wait there while me and Tim—”

Jon groaned. “Fine, fine. We’ll go now and I’ll sort through it tomorrow.”

“That’s the spirit!” Tim cheered. “Now get up and start moving so that we can get out of here.”

Jon sighed heavily before pushing his chair back and standing up. His legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate, though, and buckled beneath him as he stumbled over absolutely _nothing._ Martin was quick to catch him, hands grabbing at Jon’s shoulders and holding him steady. Jon felt himself slump forward until his head rested against Martin’s chest. He silently cursed his body for betraying him.

“Are you okay?” Martin asked, worry lacing through his words.

“Fine,” Jon mumbled, eyes slipping shut. “Just… tired. Give me a moment.”

There was a beat of silence before Martin spoke up again. “Tim, could you get the door for me?”

“On it.”

Jon pulled his head off of Martin’s chest and tried to look up at him. “What are you—?”

Before Jon could even process what was happening, Martin was shifting and moving. Jon felt Martin’s hand move from his shoulders to elsewhere on his body—the back of his legs and across his back—and then the world went spinning for a few seconds. By the time Jon even considered flailing, everything around him had already stabilized and his feet weren’t touching the ground.

Martin was holding him up. Carrying him bridal style.

Jon briefly thought of protesting, demanding that Martin put him back down and let him walk out of the institute with what was left of his dignity.

Instead, Jon let out a small whine and let his head fall against Martin again, settling comfortably into his arms. He felt Martin’s laughter more than he heard it, a gentle rumble of his chest that bounced Jon’s head a bit. Jon just closed his eyes again and nuzzled further into the warmth and softness of Martin’s jumper.

“I’m telling you, he’s practically a cat.”

“I know. Now can you please open the door?”

Jon hazily recognized the sound of a door creaking open before Martin started moving, the movement swaying Jon with each step.

He fell asleep before they were even out of the archives, Martin’s and Tim’s voices swimming in his ears.

* * *

Awareness returned to Jon so softly and so gradually that he didn’t really notice waking up, easing out of unconsciousness into the fuzzy place between dreams and reality where everything was warm and muted. His mind moved sluggishly, vague thoughts and sensations registering briefly before they slipped away like water through fingers, but Jon felt utterly safe and unafraid. Nothing could hurt him now. Jon had never been more certain of anything else in his life.

Slowly but surely, Jon became more and more aware of his surroundings. The first thing he truly noticed was the comforting weight on top of him and the heavy warmth that enveloped him, followed closely by the press of soft fabric against his body and the soothing, repetitive motion of fingers brushing tenderly through his hair. Jon took in a deep breath through his nose, familiar smells washing over him even though he wasn’t quite awake enough yet to place any of them. He shifted his head slightly, feeling his face graze over material that was warm and soft and a little rough all at once. The hand running through his hair paused briefly but started up again before Jon could even begin to formulate a reaction of some kind. A sound broke through the white noise, something low and with a bit of a rumble, and Jon felt something inside of him melt even further.

As Jon kept trying to shake off the last vestiges of sleep, he could make out other things—the quiet murmur of some kind of show playing, the sound of movement from another room, how someone had taken off his shoes and socks, and the way the cushions he was on gave way to support him. He was lying on his side, his head propped up on something too firm and too warm to be a pillow.

Jon took in another deep breath and let his eyes flutter open. He angled his head to look upwards and Tim’s face, full of affection and fondness and kindness and _love,_ was the first sight that greeted him.

“Hey there,” Tim whispered, more breath than actual words. “How are you doing?”

Jon closed his eyes again at the flood of emotions, hot and sweet and choking, that ran through him. “… Fine.” No, that wasn’t quite right, was it? This was a lot better than just ‘fine’. “It’s… good. Nice.”

Tim hummed, his hand still stroking through Jon’s hair. He didn’t say anything else and Jon took the opportunity to let his head drop back onto Tim’s lap, nuzzling a bit into the fabric of his jeans.

“The blanket,” Jon mumbled, “‘s heavy.”

Tim laughed quietly again. “Yeah, it’s supposed to be. Martin thought it’d be nice to get you a weighted blanket since you like deep pressure so much and I couldn’t think of a more brilliant idea. I take it you’re a fan?”

Jon didn’t bother to lift his head as he nodded, cheek sliding across the fabric of Tim’s jeans. He had just enough presence of mind left to mutter, “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

They lapsed back into a silence that isn’t really silent, the ambient noise of Tim’s flat insulating them from the rest of the world. He could hear the hum of the air conditioning, the steady rhythm of Tim’s breathing, and the sound of movement coming from the direction of the kitchen. If Jon strained his ears enough, he could even make out a few of the words coming from the television.

“Martin?” Jon asked, still lethargic and overwhelmingly comfortable.

“He’s making tea,” Tim said. “I’m here to keep you company until he gets back. Then we both get you into an actual bed.”

“I just woke up,” Jon pointed out.

“You’re also _this_ close to slurring your words—you can’t see it but I’m holding my hand up and my fingers are _touching_ each other—and there’s no way that you’re feeling fully rested after a week of sleep deprivation and one thirty-minute nap. So yeah, you’re going to drink your chamomile tea, change into something to sleep in, and then the three of us are going to bed. This is non-negotiable.”

“Tyrants,” Jon grumbled, not bothering to open his eyes. He already knew the exact expression that would be on Tim’s face, a mix of something smug and cozy and unyielding. It was a face he wore often when he was telling Jon to look after himself. Jon would _never_ let him know just how much he liked it.

Tim didn’t deign to respond to that. He just kept up the soothing motion of petting Jon.

After what couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes, Jon could hear footsteps coming from the kitchen area and growing closer to the couch. He turned over onto his other side and opened his eyes again just in time to see Martin set down three tea-filled mugs on the small, beaten-up coffee table. The whole room was blurry around the edges without his glasses on, but Jon knew it well enough that everything in it was a familiar sight.

“Hello,” Martin said, his voice just as soft and gentle as Tim had been when Jon had first woken up. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Jon answered. “Warm. Thank you. For the blanket.”

Martin’s whole face lit up as he grinned. “Of course. I’m glad that you like it. I mean, it just seemed like the sort of thing that you’d enjoy and Tim said it’d make a nice gift so… yeah.”

Jon couldn’t help but smile fuzzily at Martin’s rambling. He could almost remember a time when he would have found it annoying, something that was a shortcoming instead of the endearing quirk that it truly was, but the memory was too far away and Jon had no real desire to dredge it up right now. “Yes. I’m… yes. Thank you.”

Martin gave a soft giggle, high and giddy. Something warm bubbled up in Jon’s chest along with the sound.

“Alright, you’re gonna have to sit up now if you want to drink your tea,” Tim said, shifting a bit as his hand pulled away fully from Jon’s hair. “And we need to make some space for Martin.”

Jon gave a soft hum of acknowledgment. He could not gather the strength to move his limbs, not when he felt so heavy and relaxed and secure.

“… Would you mind if we moved you?” Martin asked.

Jon nodded and let his eyes fall shut. Martin’s and Tim’s hands were soon on him, the touch muffled by the blanket. With infinite care and gentleness, they repositioned Jon until he was sitting on the couch, blanket over his shoulders and leaning heavily against Tim’s side. Jon felt the couch dip on his left as Martin sat down. He reached out blindly until his hand made contact with Martin’s shirt. He tugged lightly and gave a small whine.

There was laughter—Jon couldn’t tell whose but his bet was on Tim—and some more shifting and rearranging until Jon was squished snugly between his two boyfriends. He basked in the feeling of being held and cared for and _loved,_ his heart fit to burst as everything inside of him threatened to overflow. He swallowed thickly and buried himself further in Tim and Martin’s embrace.

“Gonna be a bit hard to drink tea like this,” Tim commented idly.

“I don’t think that we figured in just how tired he’d be,” Martin said. “Tea probably wasn’t the best idea.”

“No, it was a great idea. We’re just lucky that Jon is _actually_ trying to sleep for once. We should get him to bed.”

“Okay. I’ll—”

“Take him to bed. _I’ll_ clean up the tea. It’s only fair.”

Martin let out a short burst of breath that was somewhere between exasperated and amused. “Alright, but I’m cleaning it up next time.”

“We’ll see.”

“Hm. Jon? Hey, Jon, I’m going to pick you up now okay?”

“Mhm,” Jon managed to get out. He liked being in Martin’s arms, being carried by him. He’d have to look into having that happen more often when he regained the ability to form words.

Jon felt himself being moved and lifted once again, still wrapped in his new blanket that was quickly becoming one of his favorite things in the whole world. Too soon, he was being lowered onto something large and soft. His brain hazily informed him that he was probably on Tim’s bed now.

“Jon?” Oh, that was Martin’s voice. It sounded the way sunshine felt and the way warm cookies smelled. “Jon, can I take off your clothes? Just your trousers and shirt so that I can change you into something more comfortable?”

Jon gave a small nod. He trusted Martin. Martin wouldn’t do anything that Jon didn’t want him to do. He’d only make Jon feel better, more cozy. More loved.

Jon was only tangentially aware of Martin slipping him out of his work clothes and then helping him into a shirt that was two sizes too large and soft to the touch. He let Martin arrange him onto the bed and under the covers, his blanket laid on top and adding a sense of pressure that Jon wanted to bury himself in.

Things got even _better_ when he felt Martin slide into bed behind him, throwing an arm over Jon and pressing broad and warm against his back. Jon briefly wondered if he could drown in nothing but his own emotions, choking on love and affection until there was no space left inside of him. It wouldn’t be a bad way to die, but it would make Martin and Tim sad so Jon dismissed the notion out of hand.

Some time later—seconds, minutes, hours? Jon had no clue—someone else shuffled into the room. Jon could hear Martin say something, though exactly _what_ he said was lost to Jon. The other person— _Tim_ —said something back, equally as unintelligible. There was some rustling and the sound of more movement for a little while longer. The side of the bed that Jon was facing towards dipped down and the covers were lifted. Tim settled against Jon’s front, managing to press a delicate kiss to Jon’s forehead before Jon ducked and buried his face in the crook of Tim’s neck. Tim just huffed and wrapped an arm around Jon’s waist.

“Night,” Tim breathed out. Jon could feel his throat move as he spoke.

“G’night,” Martin whispered back, his words brushing through Jon’s hair.

 _Good night,_ Jon thought, more feeling than words.

Jon fell into oblivion, Tim and Martin on either side of him and his heart beating _I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I hope that ya'll liked the fic, especially you, Charlie! Feel free to leave a kudos or comment if the mood strikes you.
> 
> Have a great day :D


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